


emotions are a pain in the ass, ft. lalli hotakainen

by lilithqueen



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 13:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7106257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithqueen/pseuds/lilithqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, Lalli's not sure whether he's feeling love or indigestion. He thinks he might've preferred the indigestion. At least it's not all for nothing.</p><p>ft. Mikkel's sage advice and Tuuri being a good cousin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	emotions are a pain in the ass, ft. lalli hotakainen

Emil, Lalli decided, was…nice. Yes. Nice was a good word for him.

The Swede didn’t push him to talk or to spend time with the rest of the group. Sure, his chattering in Swedish—of which Lalli could only ever pick out his name—could be annoying, but it was mostly very soothing not to be expected to talk back. Lalli could lean against his shoulder while they ate and let the noise wash over him, pleasant little waves of sound. Sometimes he brought him cookies, and he never complained when Lalli dozed on him.

Sometimes, when Emil thought he was asleep, he’d pet his hair or rest a hand on his shoulder. Friendly gestures, but…unaccountably, those times always made his heart speed up, and sleep would be annoyingly hard to find. _Hrmph. It’s just Emil._ Admittedly, Emil had been very kind to him, and clearly didn’t hold a grudge for that time with the soup (Lalli still held a grudge against himself for that time with the soup; he’d been such an _idiot_ ), but that was no reason to be sappy.

Still, as Lalli stripped and cleaned his rifle he couldn’t help looking over at him. Earlier that day, Emil had been roped into helping Sigrun and Reynir dress the deer she’d shot; it was hot, messy work, and he’d long since shucked his coat and rolled his sleeves up as he worked. The afternoon light made his skin glow and his hair gleam, caught the little hairs on his arms and outlined them in gold. Slowly, he set his screwdriver down. _Well. I guess Emil’s not bad to look at, either…_

He really wasn’t. He was stockier than Lalli, broader in the shoulders and solid with well-defined muscle that all seemed to be set off perfectly by his uniform whenever he shed that bulky coat of his. His blue eyes, a brighter shade than Lalli had ever seen, were currently narrowed in concentration, but Lalli had watched them turn warm and soft when he looked at him. And those _arms_. Emil had very, very nice arms, sinewy and muscled. Even now, speckled with gore, he looked good. (Perhaps _especially_ now, Lalli thought idly. He was…appealing when he was halfway competent at something.)

As Reynir carved the last joint of meat from the deer’s leg, the carcass fell from the branch it had hung on, splattering Emil and Sigrun with half-dried blood as it landed skin-first in the dirt. Lalli couldn’t help but snicker at Emil’s frantic Swedish cursing as he tried to clean his shirt off. Sigrun was snickering too, so he wasn’t alone.

Oh. Tuuri was saying something to them. He ignored her; Emil was snarling something in Swedish and…and peeling his shirt off as he stalked past Lalli into the tank. _Wow. That is…wow_. He’d never really gotten a good look at all that skin before, and his fingers itched to touch.

He didn’t. Emil might be friendly, but there was no way he’d welcome _that_. And there was no way to explain it even if they spoke the same language.

As they ate dinner that night—largely courtesy of Reynir, who Lalli decided was tolerable after all—Emil sat down on a rock next to him. “Hej, Lalli…”

Ugh. Swedish. Lalli frowned at him. _I don’t know if you like the sound of your own voice or if you just forget I can’t understand you._

More chatter, cheerful, and—oh. Emil was leaning forward, spearing a particularly large chunk of venison out of the stew pot, and dropping it neatly in Lalli’s bowl. And smiling. And laying a hand on his arm gently; the warmth of it radiated through Lalli’s sleeve.

Lalli felt his face heat. It felt unsettlingly like his stomach had decided to lurch up into his chest. _I didn’t even eat yet. Now is not the time for indigestion._

It was good stew, but he barely tasted it. His mind kept returning to that touch. _It’s just Emil._ _Really, it’s just Emil, there’s no reason to…_

Emil was chuckling at the cat begging for a bite of Tuuri’s stew. The sound wrapped around his heart and squeezed so tightly that he choked a little with the force of it.

“Lalli?” Tuuri, concerned.

He shook his head. “I’m fine!”

Emil’s eyes crinkled up when he laughed, and Lalli thought, _Fuck_.

He would have definitely preferred the indigestion.

\--

Emil was checking his gear over. It had rained last night, looked like it was going to rain again, and he would have preferred to do it inside, but there just wasn’t enough space. _Cramped as hell in there. I feel bad for Lalli, having to scout so much, but…at least when he’s out, there’s a little more room. Not that he takes up a lot of room anyway._ Especially not with his tendency to sleep under bunks instead of in them, which had been weird at first, but…well. It had grown on him.

Everything Lalli did had grown on him. He didn’t seem to mind Emil talking to him even when he didn’t understand a word; though Tuuri said he wasn’t usually a fan of people, he seemed to like his company, maybe even seek it out sometimes. Emil was sure he’d never forget the aftermath of the giant attack on the Dalahästen. They’d barely even met, Lalli had had no reason to like him…but when he’d hovered over him and seen that he was shaking, those long, slender fingers had carefully rearranged his hair so that it lay neatly. The first time Lalli had stumbled in, exhausted, and slowly slumped over until his head had come to rest against Emil’s shoulder, he’d been too nervous to move. Now, it was…easy. Routine. Comfortable. Lalli seemed to appreciate routine, and every time he trusted him enough to relax against his side and let his eyes slide shut made something glow like fire in Emil’s heart.

He’d been unable to keep himself from caressing Lalli’s hair the last few times, and he’d offered thankful prayers to gods he didn’t even believe in that Lalli had been so deeply asleep. (He’d briefly thought about asking Sigrun or Tuuri if there was a god of idiots-who-might-be-in-love in either of their pantheons, but he was too afraid of what they’d say.) He wasn’t sure what he would have done if Lalli had woken up. _‘Sorry, you’re so pretty I wanted to pet your hair just to make sure you were real.’ Yeah, that would go over well. He wouldn’t even need to know Swedish to punch me for that._

Because that was the problem, too. Lalli was _gorgeous_. And Emil’s flamethrower wasn’t in such dire condition that he didn’t have plenty of time, even now, to watch Lalli where he sat on a stump sharpening his knife. The flat, gray sky overhead didn’t do Emil’s coloring any favors, but it turned Lalli’s hair the color of steel, made his eyes the same shade of gray as the rain-darkened rocks by his feet. In this light, with such faint shadows, his cheekbones seemed softer, as though Emil might be able to cup them in his palms and not slice his skin to ribbons. His lean form _looked_ fragile, but Emil had seen him move enough that he knew he was anything but; there were hard, wiry muscles hidden in there, and with them Lalli could be as fast as a snake.

 _Knives are a good weapon for him. He’s just as quick and lethal as one._ Emil sighed and set his flamethrower down as carefully as possible. It still clunked. _And here I am being a clumsy oaf._

Oh, shit. The noise had attracted Lalli’s attention, and he was tilting his head curiously at him. Was it Emil’s imagination, or were his eyes gentler than usual?

Emil knew he had to be bright red. “It’s okay!” Soothing hand gestures helped, he’d found. You could get a lot across with hand gestures.

Lalli was still eying him, but after a moment he shrugged and went back to his knife.

Mikkel’s footsteps heralded his approach to the outside world just before the man himself stepped down from the tank. “Checking on dinner, don’t mind me.”

Emil turned his gaze to the pot. Dinner, thankfully, still meant venison. Reynir was a godsend. “It’s still simmering, I think.”

“Hrm.” Mikkel gave the stew a few stirs, glancing at him sidelong. “Emil.”

“What?”

He jerked his head lightly in Lalli’s direction. “ _What_ are you going to do about him?”

Emil felt his face heat up. “Um. What’re you talking about?”

Mikkel raised an eyebrow. “…Haven’t you noticed that he keeps staring at you?”

Not for the first time, part of Emil wondered if Mikkel had ever been a teacher. He certainly had the ability to make you feel like an idiot without actually saying anything. The rest of him just wanted to die, because Lalli was sitting _right there_. “I…Um. But that’s…” Against his better judgement, he cast a glance at Lalli and froze; the mage was just turning away, hair falling in his face so that Emil couldn’t read his expression. “He stares at everyone.” Those catlike eyes had been the first thing that had drawn him to Lalli, really; there was something so sharp about them that when they’d been turned on _him_ all he could do was tremble.

“And follows you around like a lovelorn tomcat?”

Emil choked. “ _What?!”_

“…” Mikkel sighed. “You haven’t noticed that he only ever lets you touch him?”

“Um. I. Um.” The worst part was, it made a horrible sort of sense. Sure, other people touched Lalli sometimes—a pat on the arm (usually Tuuri), an arm around the shoulders (Sigrun), a smack to the back of the head (Tuuri again)—but Emil had never actually noticed him seeking any of them out.

“Really, I half expect him to start yowling on fenceposts next.”

Oh, that was just _enough_. “Mikkel!” It was a hiss instead of a squawk; Lalli had proclaimed the area safe, but shouting was still unwise. “You are being ridiculous. He’s just—that’s just the way he is!”

“Mm-hmm. And all those times he’s fallen asleep practically in your lap?”

He swallowed hard. There had been a _lot_ of those times. More of them lately, and sometimes Lalli had woken up with his ears a faint but adorable shade of pink. “He’s tired; he works too hard. You know that.”

Mikkel, damn him, looked smug. “Mm. If you say so. So you’re not going to do anything?”

Emil very pointedly turned away. “There’s nothing to do.” _He doesn’t like me like that anyway. Mikkel’s just winding me up like that time with the bruise._

“Are you entirely sure? Because let me tell you, it is disgustingly obvious from my end and I cannot wait for you two young idiots to—”

“ _Mikkel_.”

Footsteps. Emil lifted his head automatically, felt a thin thread of misery wind around his heart when he realized Lalli was getting to his feet and walking off into the trees. They’d been louder than he thought.

His voice rose in outrage. “ _See what you did?!_ ”

Mikkel shrugged. “Go after him, if you’re so worried.”

He glared at him. “He can handle himself.”

There was a series of thumps from inside—probably Tuuri and the books—and Mikkel sighed and trudged back towards the tank. “Suit yourself, then.”

Emil was alone again. Slowly, he got to his feet and set off into the woods. Above him, the sky darkened to slate.

\--

Emil and Mikkel were _loud_. Lalli didn’t like it. He liked the idea of their conversation even less; though the words had been gibberish, he could understand their tone just fine, and the way Mikkel had been gesturing wasn’t a good sign. Once or twice those gestures had been aimed in his direction, and he’d had to quickly pretend to be absorbed in polishing his knife instead of staring at the way Emil was blushing. It was hard _not_ to stare at that; granted, it was hard not to stare at Emil in general, but the way his embarrassment turned even the tips of his ears red was far cuter than it had any right to be. He prayed he hadn’t caught him looking.

It was annoying and weird and he thought he probably shouldn’t like it so much—but he did, and that was a problem. _It would be easier if he wasn’t so nice. If he didn’t smile when he looks at me. If he wasn’t so damned easy to care about. If I knew for sure whether he was just being friendly or not._

He didn’t want to get his hopes up. Hunching his shoulders against the cold, he walked farther into the woods. Woods were—well. They were certainly not always safe, but they were at least dangerous in a familiar way.

Footsteps behind him. He stopped walking, listening hard. Light steps, trying to be quiet, but completely untrained in how to move silently—especially in solid, sturdy boots. Slightly favoring one leg. Emil. _Shit_. Maybe if he held very still…

“Lalli?”

Today was not his lucky day. He should run. He _should_.

He turned around instead. Emil stood a few paces away, running a nervous hand through his hair. He was saying something, but at least it was a _quiet_ something—oh, pointing and looking upwards. Lalli followed his line of sight. Tree branch, tree branch, squirrel, dark sky. _Very_ dark sky. He winced.

Emil stopped talking; when he reached for his hand, Lalli forgot how to breathe for a moment. _He’s just going to lead me back to the tank. He does that. It’s no reason for my heart to start racing like this._

He clasped Emil’s hand tightly, selfishly, and let him lead the way. He could walk there himself, and probably faster, but it was… _nice_ , really, to know Emil was looking out for him. He watched the way Emil’s hair stirred in the rising wind and gave his fingers a squeeze before he could think twice about it.

Emil froze, turning to look at him over his shoulder. His face was red. “Ah?”

He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat, taking a step closer. The wind was tossing Emil’s hair into his face, and he reached out to slide his fingers through it. It was fine and soft, and Emil leaned into his touch with an expression that suggested he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. They were inches away; it would be easy, so easy, to close the distance.

Oh. That warmth was Emil’s hand resting on his waist as he tugged him in gently. This close, Lalli could feel his heartbeat, could probably count his eyelashes if he wanted. He smoothed Emil’s hair back by his ear, cradling the base of his skull, and felt him tremble. _I could. I could do this._

When Emil tilted his head and kissed him, he melted into it. His heart was hammering so hard against his ribs that it almost hurt, but he didn’t care; Emil’s mouth was soft and careful on his, and when he pulled him up close against him, Lalli almost forgot to kiss him back. Emil made a sound into his mouth, quiet and hungry, as he tightened his grip on his hair and remedied that horrible near-oversight; when Emil pulled away, it was only to take a breath before coming back in to kiss him again.

He knew it was going to rain—was dimly aware that he was making some very undignified and enthusiastic noises—but neither of those things mattered in the least. His hand just seemed to fit at the nape of Emil’s neck; Emil held him perfectly, firm without being too tight and overwhelming. There was tongue, which was a little weird, but in a good way. When he had to break away from Emil’s mouth, it was only natural to drop his head to rest on his shoulder. For once, his mind was quiet.

Emil suddenly stiffened; as he stepped away, Lalli felt his stomach drop. _What is it what’s the matter—_

The first drop of rain landed squarely on top of his head. Instinctively, he hissed at the coldness of it.

With Emil’s hand in his, they reached the tank just before the heavens opened.

\--

They made it three entire weeks before Tuuri found out. In retrospect, Emil was just glad she’d _only_ caught them kissing. Normally he didn’t think he’d ever be so… _fast_ , but all thoughts of his potential standing in the eyes of the people back home and the horrified faces of his old governesses seemed to melt away like snow in summer in the face of Lalli’s hands and mouth and the things that they could do—wanted to do, to _him_.

They were in the tank; risky, yes, but warmer and safer. Lalli was sitting on Emil’s lap with his hands in his hair, very determinedly leaving marks all down his bare throat, when Tuuri made a noise like a dying animal in the doorway and Emil broke away so fast that Lalli tumbled off his lap and onto the floor with an offended hiss.

 _This is it. I am dead._ Angry-sounding Finnish surrounded him; he didn’t understand a word except a few profanities, but the gist of it was clear. When Tuuri gestured to him and snapped something at Lalli, he tried to wedge himself further into the bunk.

Lalli hissed at her and stuck his tongue out as he left the tank. Tuuri turned her gaze to Emil.

He’d never actually understood phrases like “veins filled with ice water,” but he now thought he knew what that felt like. “Um. So.”

Her voice was very careful and very even. It filled him with dread. “How long has this been going on?”

Words. Words would help. “Ngh. Three weeks…?” _And two hours, fifty-three minutes, and six seconds._

She looked him up and down steadily, eyes narrowed. “Hmm. I knew you were friendly with him, but I didn’t think you were _that_ friendly.”

“Uh. Well. Yeah.”

“You know, when we were little, some of the kids in Saimaa liked to make fun of Lalli. He never really noticed, I think, but one time—there was this one girl around my age, and Lalli thought she was his friend. And then one day, he comes home all strange and quiet, and he says he overheard her saying that her parents made her play with him, because he didn’t have any friends.” Emil had seen Tuuri’s smile before; there had sometimes been pictures of sharks in his schoolbooks. “Do you want to know what happened to that girl?”

Emil gulped.

“She woke up with her pillowcase stuffed full of frogs. We heard her screaming from all the way down the street. That was…oh, about thirteen years ago? And if, say, something like that should happen _again_ , if some Swedish Cleanser should hurt my cousin, why…that Swedish Cleanser might just wake up with all of his fancy hair gone. Do we understand each other?”

Tuuri’s smile hadn’t wavered. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was serious. Daring to break eye contact, he bowed his head. “Tuuri, if I ever give Lalli any grief, I will hand you the scissors myself.”

“ _Good_.” As she turned away, she added, “Oh, and you’re gonna want to do up your shirt again, unless you want everyone else to find out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus exchange:  
> Tuuri: “YOU DON’T EVEN SPEAK SWEDISH.”  
> Lalli: “…We were not exactly _talking_.”


End file.
